As we pause on the edge of another Lenten season we dare to redefine the dark, not as only the opposite of light, the dreaded negative where everything sinister that can be is. We dare to recover the dark and its gifts for us. “I will give you the treasures of darkness and riches hidden in secret places” says Isaiah (45:3).
The inspiration for this season of dark rescue is Barbara Brown Taylor and her beautiful book Learning to Walk in the Dark. She test drove these twilight insights for several years and many public outings before they took up permanent residence between two covers.
For those of us who embrace non-dual thinking her writing is a cool drink of water. Even so, as long as we read scripture, sing hymns or speak a language shaped over centuries, the dualism of light and dark is embedded there. Our thinking contains a heavy overlay of dualism and the definition of darkness is part of that legacy. It even shows up in our culture in the many ways we describe the relative merits of race, with light being better than dark.
Granted, without the nurture of the sun, light that sprays the planet with everything that is required, and as long as night provides cover for predators to do what they do best to the unsuspecting, our fears will make journey difficult: beware of the dark. It is hard to remain open and fearful at the same time.
For now I am turning off some lights. Not only to save energy, though that is good. I am turning them off in order to see what is there without them. It’s hard to see the Milky Way any more, unless you free yourself from the omnipresent ambient light, that is. The glare keeps the dark from sharing what it can. I am ready to receive.
Yes, it’s hard to let go of dualistic thinking. It’s easier for me when I’m in a state of complete surrender. Only then do I feel truly at peace and one with the universe. There’s no thinking, just being.
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